The Way Things Work
by Apprentice To The Dark Side
Summary: Superheroes are the new fad in the world of villainy. Unfortunately, the one who is determined to fight both Gru and Vector is a rich trophy wife with too much time on her hands. Gru didn't expect he would have to teach his superhero how to fight him. Meanwhile, the girls want a mother and sign Gru up for an online dating site. This simply can't end well. Gru/OC
1. Chapter 1

**~* Chapter One: Expectations*~**

* * *

_Life is largely a matter of expectation. – _Horace

* * *

Main Street was in shambles.

A huge gouge dragged crazily down the center of the road, creating identical ridges of asphalt on either side. Flanking the gouge, cars were crushed and pulped to indistinguishable masses of metal, some of them flattened to the ground. An acrid smell of burning rubber hung heavily in the air, and there was a haze of smoke gauzing the air. Windows were cracked, jagged bolts of fractured glass lying splintered on the ground. A fountain in the center of the downtown area was choked with rubble. Piles of rubble littered the wide street, and a street lamp had been launched through the stained glass window of a church down the street. In the midst of the smoke and wreckage, a huge titanium ship, larger than a tank but smaller than an airplane, was perched lopsidedly on the sidewalk. There was a convenient lack of people, most of them having disappeared moments after the two enemies appeared in the downtown area. A car alarm blared faintly in the distance, indicating the chaos strewn behind them went on for several miles.

Emerging decisively from the hazy smoke at relatively the same time, the two enemies regarded each other with wary, grudging respect. Closest to the fountain stood a tall, lithe superhero, clad entirely in green spandex with a narrow black mask shielding her identity. While her supersuit was bulletproof, stab-proof, and flame-proof, it was still charred at the sleeves and her boots held several inches of dirt. Her coiffed red hair was rumpled and frizzy towards the ends, and the tips of her auburn locks had been crisped. She was breathing hard, and both of her hands were wrapped tightly around the butt of a sleek, snub-nosed weapon. Although her expression was fierce and determined, her hands were shaking and she felt as though she could collapse at any moment.

Across from her, neither winded nor charred, was someone entirely different. A pair of long, elegantly thin legs widened to a solid waist and a powerful torso with broad shoulders. Clad in an expensive black collared jacket, a silver-and-black scarf tossed carelessly over his shoulder, stood Felonious Gru, number two supervillain in the world. His head was perfectly smooth and bald, and his nose was extraordinarily long, resulting in an unforgettable profile which was emblazoned on many Most Wanted lists. Like his enemy, his long fingers were also wrapped around the butt of a bizarre looking weapon, although his hands were perfectly still. A pair of thick eyebrows arched disdainfully over hooded blue eyes.

When the silence became entirely too oppressive, the superheroine took a chance. After all, didn't the superhero initiate the banter? "You might as well give up, Gru," She shouted out, her voice stronger than she felt and firmer than her knees testified. "Good shall always triumph in the end. Come along quietly."

Gru arched an eyebrow. "Like I 'aven't head _zhat_ one before," He sniffed. "FYI, superhero's banter ees terrible. 'Onestly, you would zhink thees supposedly _smart_ peeple vould 'ave wittier comebacks."

A fluttering of delighted triumph tickled her belly. At last! Now, the climactic showdown between good and evil, where good would always win. She had been waiting for this. "Face it, Gru, I'm going to win. That's the way it works."

He shrugged. "Seence vhen 'ave I paid any attention to rules?" He asked. Pleased with himself, he flicked a glowing red button on his weapon, drawing a bead on his opponent. "Zhay goodbye, Supergirl."

Supergirl tightened her grip on her gun and blinked a bead of sweat away from her eye. He wouldn't _actually_ shoot her, would he? This was their first battle, after all! How could he just end things like this? Unless he wasn't interested in having a superhero in his town. Panic clawed at her throat. Every story she had heard from her fellow superheroes, was that most supervillains delighted in having competition. But there was always one ...

Gru paused. "Zeriously, though, vhat kind ov a name is _zhat_? Soopergirl? You couldn't zhink of anything beeter?" He smirked as though he knew exactly what she had been thinking. Why on earth would he end this already? She had just barely arrived her, after all, and this was only their first battle. It had been quite good, ending up with weapons scattered everywhere, both of them aching in a dozen places, (although Supergirl was far more injured than he), and half of the downtown area wrecked. Most of the supervillains in the world had superheroes now, and the whole I-stole-Mt.-Rushmore-so-go-steal-the-Leaning-Tower-of-Pisa thing was getting old. Not to mention expensive. It was far cheaper and easier to simply find a superhero, especially since he was trying to juggle the lives of his three daughters to boot. And before he had even really made up his mind on the subject, this newbie had shown up out of absolutely nowhere and challenged him.

She almost laughed, she was that relieved. "Superhero names are literal. And anyway, what kind of a name is Gru? Sounds like something you'd find in the trash." Supergirl said dryly, and cocked her weapon. "Are you going to surrender, or am I going to have to drag you down to the police station in cuffs?"

Gru was affronted. "Gru 'appens to be a respeectable name, zhank you very much," He grumbled. "And I am seeing very much talk but no action. Are you going to arrest me, or just stand zhere?"

Her eyes narrowed. From a hundred feet away, Gru's dark orbs of navy blue glared into Supergirl's green eyes. The tension on the air grew steadily thicker, almost to visible opacity, and beads of sweat rolled down Supergirl's temple. Her gloved fingers increased the pressure on her trigger, every second shredding into her nerves. She wouldn't move first – that wasn't her job. She readied herself, her core tense as a coiled spring, every fiber of her waiting ... watching ...

His watch beeped.

In that frozen moment, Supergirl blinked, and watched Gru perform the most mundane of all actions. He checked his watch. Automatically, more out of ingrained habit than anything, she checked her own. Three o'clock on the nose. To her utter bafflement, Gru holstered his weapon and smirked at Supergirl, who hesitantly lowered her gun. "As entertaining as eet vas, Soopergirl, I 'ave theengs to do. Good bye."

He turned and walked away.

Supergirl advanced a few steps, her brows knotted. "Wait!" She called out, and Gru paused, looking over his shoulder. "This isn't how it's supposed to go! I'm supposed to bring you down to the police station, and you're supposed to escape, and I'm supposed to chase you! You ... you can't just ... leave!"

"And vhy not?" Gru asked reasonably. He shrugged. "Even veellains 'ave a life."

Supergirl watched, dumbfounded, as Gru swung himself into his enormous silver tank, the door sealing shut behind him. There was nothing she could do except watch Gru pull safely away, and even if there was something she could do, Supergirl doubted she could shake her utter shock off quickly enough to give chase. This was ridiculous! Since when had villains simply drove away like that? It was supposed to be a dangerous battle between good and evil, resulting in bruises and electric burns and eventual arrests. It was supposed to be dramatic, and showy, and she was supposed to make her mark on this town. She had wanted to make an impression, to scare the other supervillain into submission. She wanted to make a _name _for herself, and quickly.

This was the most unconventional villain she had seen in her life.

* * *

Margo held onto Agnes's hand, tethering her younger sister to the safety of the curb. It was an overcast day, the sort of day which made you think the sky was naturally gray, and the humidity in the air was enough to make anyone sticky and miserable. The eldest Gru child was taller than her two sisters, with dark chestnut hair pulled back into a neat braid. A pair of rectangular glasses were settled on the bridge of her nose, and the sleeve of her dark blue sweater was being badly stretched, since Agnes had transferred her grip to the material instead of her hand. "Agnes, please," Margo pleaded, her dark brown eyes searching for the trademark silver ship which carried her father. _Her father_. That was still such a novelty to think. Such a precious, rare gift. True, Gru had originally chosen them for his sinister scheme, but he _kept_ them because he loved them. Still, despite all this, Margo felt something was missing. An important something.

Edith was hopping on and off the curb, first on one leg and then on two. There were several occasions where the middle child was in danger of getting clipped by a passing car, and Margo couldn't keep her eyes everywhere. "Edith," She said, exasperated.

The spikey haired blonde glared up resentfully at her older sister. "What? I'm _bored._" She huffed, and pulled her pink hat a little lower over her eyes. Edith had been wearing her pink hat ever since she had been dropped off at the orphanage – it was a comfort thing. Now, in Gru's household, the hat was more of a fond memento than a reminder of her parents. She had Gru. And who needed anything else? He was cool, with guns and lasers and his secret lab full of explosive things. Plus, he promised that he would never give them up. And that was enough for Edith. She bounced onto the curb a final time and then stayed there, jiggling her foot impatiently as she waited for her father.

Agnes watched a small yellow butterfly perch daintily on a blade of grass. She bit her lower lip, grinning at the pretty little butterfly. Hopefully, it would escape before the rain came. The youngest girl was a cherubic toddler, emerging into her newly minted independence and entering kindergarten. So far, she was thoroughly enjoying herself, although she missed being with Gru all the time. When it came to Gru's attention, Agnes had him completely wrapped around her tiny little finger. And she knew it, too.

Just when the frustration of Margo and Edith reached its zenith, they saw the huge titanium ship cruise luxuriously into view. Gru honked the horn twice, which sounded like the incoming signal from a tugboat, and the doors hissed open. Quickly, the girls scrambled inside.

"You're late!" Edith crowed, dragging her pink backpack up the steps and flinging it onto the seat. Margo and Agnes were right behind her, tucking their bags against the wall of the car.

"What happened?" Margo asked, and caught a whiff of Gru as she leaned forward. Her nose crinkled. "You smell like _smoke_. Where were you?"

Gru brushed his sleeve absently. "Busy day, gorls," He said briskly, deliberately avoiding Margo's question. "Vhat did you do in cliss today?" He missed the black glare Margo shot him briefly before sinking down into her seat and buckling her seatbelt.

Agnes produced a slightly sticky blob of glitter which was covering every inch of a piece of paper. "I colored a house!" She said, dangling it in front of Gru. "You c'n have it."

"I was the fastest on the monkey bars," Edith reported. "And we planted lima beans. I ate mine," She added as an afterthought.

"Good, vurry good," Gru said absently. "Margo? How was school?"

Margo had piled into the ship without saying another word, and was sitting against the window, her cheek pressed against the glass. "Nothing," She said without looking up. "We read some stuff. _All_ of us have homework," She added, looking at Edith. Her younger sister pouted and slumped lower in her seat.

Gru caught Margo's eye in the rearview mirror. There was something wrong with his eldest daughter, and he hoped it was nothing serious. If she was being bullied, there would finally be a use for his FlameThrower500 (with handy built in telescoping sniper rifle). He would have to discuss it with her later. At any rate, there was dinner to plan. "Vhat do you gorls feel like having for deener?" He asked.

"Pizza!"

"Cake!"

"Gummy bears!"

"Ice cream!"

Gru silenced Edith and Agnes with an upraised palm. "Correction: Vhat do you feel like 'aving zhat vill _not_ geeve you a heart attack?" He asked. There was silence for a moment, while Agnes and Edith pondered this.

"Popcorn," Agnes said finally.

"Popcorn for snack," Gru consented. "Anyzhing else?"

As the girls peppered him with questions, Gru had to suppress a smile. Everything seemed to be going right, for once. He had an easier, publicity-fetching job which garnered him more attention then his previous attempts at villainy, and three beautiful girls. _His family_. He was remarkably, and perhaps for the first time in his life, completely and thoroughly content.

He had no idea how much trouble a superhero could cause.

* * *

Her fingers fumbled over the zipper as she toed off her tall black boots. A toothbrush was poking from the corner of her mouth, and her singed hair was neatly brushed. Frankly, there was no time for a shower – her confrontation with Gru had taken more time than she had previously thought. Not to mention her hoverboard had stalled halfway home, causing her to drop out of the air like a stone and crash-land in a convenient line of hedges.

The woman previously known as Supergirl pressed a tiny black button on the frame of her closet door, and the walk in closet whirred slightly. Walls flipped inwards, racks of shoes were tucked away, and a soundproof room completely stuffed with gadgets appeared. Rows of weapons hung neatly secured with pins to the wall: guns that shot nets, guns that froze people, guns that shot darts, guns that shot handcuffs. There was a bulletproof cape, jet-powered Gucci heels, and a thousand other tiny things which every fledgling superhero thought they needed. She tottered over to the silver mannequin which held her supersuit, and stuffed her boots unceremoniously beneath it. Standing flat footed on the chilly tile, she peeled her skintight supersuit off her lean body, kicked it off her ankles, and struggled to fit it over the mannequin. The tight spandex was _absurdly_ difficult to remove, and she soon lost patience with the tight suit. "Oh, forget it," She huffed, and swallowed a mouthful of foam.

Hastily, she pressed the button again, and her walls retracted to reveal her usual gigantic assortment of clothes. Snatching an outfit at random, she wriggled into a skinny black dress which had a slit up to the thigh, and checked herself in the floor length mirror. Vainly, she smoothed her hair down and away from her face, trying to make it mirror her former elegantly coiffed bob, and smiled prettily at her reflection. There – trophy wife smile down pat. She grabbed a pair of black pumps, which were far more comfortable than her ridiculous super-boots, and clasped a string of pearls around her neck. Checking the silver watch on her wrist, she groaned.

"So late, so late, so late," She mumbled as she fled her closet and darted through her expensive bedroom. Had she time to notice, she would have realized that there were dozens of candles on every available surface. Not lit, but waiting expectantly, fresh waxed wicks standing stiffly to attention. There was a single crimson rose on the fluffy white pillow on her bed, along with a sealed note. But she didn't notice any of these things, she was far too busy on trying to run in heels and patting her hair nervously.

She burst clumsily into the dining hall, where dozens of heads swiveled in her direction. The woman ducked her head, blushing furiously, and walked carefully up to the table at the head of the hall. Talk gradually resumed, and she was grateful for the outrageous amount of people. At least not all eyes would be on her, although she strongly suspected her late entrance would fuel the gossip for a few moments at least.

At the head of the table, a tall, attractive dark-haired man looked up at her. "Hey," He whispered, and sounded relieved. "Where were you, Jen? You okay?" He asked as she sat down next to him, smoothing her dress beneath her.

"I'm fine, Richie," She whispered back. Jennifer reached for his hand beneath the table and squeezed it tightly. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, and he must have felt the puffy, shiny burn which she had gotten from Gru. Richie raised her hand and brushed his lips against her knuckles, but Jen knew he was studying the welt on her hand.

"Sweetie, are you sure this isn't too much?" He asked in his gentle voice. Jen squeezed his hand even tighter. Richie was so considerate about this, and whenever he looked at her with those big, soulful brown eyes, she just fell in love with him a little more. There was a reason she was married to his man, she reminded herself, and it was because he was an amazing, wonderful person.

"Richie, I had _so_ much fun," She told him excitedly, keeping her voice low. Well, perhaps fun wasn't the right word. "It ended weird, though. He just sort of walked off without finishing the battle." She frowned, pouting a little. "I wanted him to stay, that way we could do the whole big showdown."

He stroked her hand. "Jen, be careful," Richie said softly. "I know you want to help the world and everything, but can't we just donate a little more to the cancer research society?" At the appalled look on Jen's face, he sighed. "I just don't want you getting hurt."

She leaned forward and pecked him on the lips, giving him a blinding smile. "I have never been more happy," Jennifer said seriously, although her playful green eyes were full of delight. "This is ... indescribable. I love the whole process, you know? Getting dressed, picking out the weapons, challenging him, fighting him, the banter, everything! It's so ... perfect."

Richie relaxed visibly when he saw the impassioned look in her eyes. "Just so long as you're careful," He told her, kissing her lightly, "I don't care what you do. Just so you're happy."

Jen put a hand on his leg, stroking with the heel of her hand. "Besides. Tomorrow I get to fight Vector! The other villain in this town. They say he's the best superhero in the world, but I don't know. I mean, he relies on a lot of gadgets, and I've been doing my homework and I really just think he's –"

A disapproving look from one of the tables in front of them silenced her. Richie caught the hand stroking his leg, and looked up at her with those big brown eyes. "You do know tonight is our second anniversary," He said, and his deep voice was impossibly smooth.

Jen's sly smile curled the side of her mouth. "I'm _supposed_ to be resting for my fight tomorrow," She said, poking him teasingly in the ribcage.

"I'll give you plenty of time to sleep," He promised, but there was a wicked gleam in his dark eyes. "First, though, let's pay attention to the speakers and try not to miss anything."

The young couple faced the front again, Jennifer picking at her food, Richie holding her hand.

How would Gru react when he discovered his new superhero was just a rich girl playing with a new toy?

* * *

_A/N: Firstly, forgive me. I make no excuses. I fell hopelessly and ridiculously in love with Despicable Me the other day, and I am doing what I ALWAYS do: write fanfiction for what I love! :) So here is what I've got. _

_I don't have a beta for this story currently, so all mistakes are my own. I'm having trouble with Gru's accent like the rest of us, I've been listening to the movie while I write this and I'm pretty much just spelling everything phonetically. _

_Reviews and criticism always appreciated~! The more reviews I get, the more inspired I am to continue writing! Please tell me what you think of Jennifer (aka Supergirl) and Gru, and all the rest. :) _

_VERY IMPORTANT: **Supergirl and Gru are not a pairing**. I have another OC in mind for Gru. Supergirl and Gru's relationship is strictly business. ;)_


	2. Chapter 2

**~*Chapter Two: Planning*~**_  
_

* * *

___Plans are nothing, planning is everything._ - Dwight D. Eisenhower

* * *

She picked herself out of the rubble, coughing and wiping hair away from her eyes. Everything ached, and her slender body was dotted with bruises and there was a dark gash on her cheek. In front of her was the insurmountable white wall which barricaded Vector in his fortress. A high white dome, perfectly smooth and white, was dwarfed by a gigantic sky-blue pyramid. The pyramid of Giza had been painted the exact color of the sky behind it, and some clever artist had also painted several white clouds on the rough surface. Obviously, it wasn't fooling anyone except the police. Whirring softly in the doorway, a complicated wheel with boots on the spokes menaced her silently, and Supergirl regarded it warily. The machine had sent her flying into the air, and it was only due to her hoverheels which had prevented her from crashing down and becoming pavement pizza. Unfortunately, the experimental hoverheels had shorted out in midair, leaving her hanging upside down from the sky, scrabbling at the air and trying gamely not to scream.

Vector had filmed the whole thing.

Crushed and humiliated, Supergirl stood and dashed her wrist across her eyes, fighting back bitter tears. Vector didn't even have the respect to come and meet her face to face – he simply sent out this kicking machine, or whatever it was. Supergirl jutted her chin defiantly at Vector's glossy white dome, her voice hurt and angry as she shouted out, "Vector! This is your last chance, come out and fight!"

A small speaker set into the thick white wall crackled. "How about...no?" Vector said, and then giggled. She balled her fists, narrowing her eyes. If he only knew what she had done to get here! She had researched him extensively, studying his old heists and discovering all the gadgets he had patented. In order to make a good impression, she had worn these experimental hoverheels, a ridiculously decked-out skintight green supersuit, and enough weaponry to set off all metal detectors in a hundred mile radius. She took a menacing step closer.

"Vector, I don't think you understand who you're dealing with," Supergirl threatened. "There's going to be some changes in this town, Vector! Both you and Gru are going –"

"Gru?" The speaker chortled. "Puh-leeze. Are you telling me that my very first superhero isn't even mine? I have to share her? Yeah, okay, that's not happening."

Supergirl could just see Vector, stretched out on his orange circular couch, wearing that stupid pumpkin-colored jogging suit. With his bowl cut hair and thick black glasses, he had been nominated the #1 Dorkiest Villain last year – which had been hastily covered up by Vector, of course. She tossed her thick red hair. "You can't share justice, Vector! And there's going to be a lot of it going around. Both you and Gru are finally going to pay for your crimes!"

"Do they teach new superheroes how to spout cliché lines?" Vector wanted to know. "Because, really, that is so lame. You guys really need some new material."

"I'm warning you, Vector –!"

There was a muted clicking noise, and a deep roaring whirr as something revved up. Supergirl stumbled backwards as a rocket popped out of nowhere, aimed straight at her nose. "No, I'm warning you. Go bother Gru, okay? I don't have time for you right now. I'm super busy, y'know, with this whole evil plan in the works..."

"What evil plan?" Supergirl demanded, clenching her teeth.

Vector whooped with laughter. "Are you serious? You think I'm going to just tell you what my plan is? Oh, right, because that's what all supervillains do, am I right? Yeah, okay, bye-bye. I have stuff to do." Vector sniggered, and then pressed a button on his keypad. The kicking machine flared to life, and Supergirl started to run. When the first boot connected with her back, she couldn't stop herself from screaming and kicking off from the ground, activating her hoverheels. The new, stylish heels worked for once, and she zipped off into the sky, desperate to get away from Vector and his gadgets.

* * *

"...And then I just had to fly away, because he was so mean!"

She was sitting on her couch, sniffling, her supersuit and mask still on, her hair a mess, and the television blaring. A half-eaten Whitman's sampler was at her knee, and Jenny was curled up on the corner of the sofa, watching the Superheroes One-Stop Shopping Network through teary green eyes. Her hoverheels had been kicked off at the door and thrown against a wall, and they were crumpled by the radiator as if ashamed of their actions. Richie was sitting on the edge of the table, running his hands through his dark wavy hair. His young wife was injured, distraught, and eating more chocolate than most people consumed in their lives, and all because of Vector.

"Jenny, stop. Okay? Just stop. Forget this whole superhero thing, this town is fine, it really is." Richie insisted, his dark eyes pleading as he sat on the couch next to his wife. She didn't look at him, but ate another chocolate and sniffed. "You've been amazing by hanging on this long, but I'm not just going to sit by and let you get hurt. Please, please stop this madness."

"I can't," Jenny said in a small voice. "I can't stop, now that I've started this. And I don't want to stop. It's just hard, is all. I'm not used to..." She broke off and struggled to laugh. "This makes me sound so spoiled, but I'm not used to working this hard for something."

Richie leaned over and pressed a kiss to his wife's temple. "Please. Reconsider."

She finally looked at him, and those big green eyes were just as determined and strong as they had been when he first met her. "I'm not going to stop. Ever. I'm going to get Vector out of his fortress tomorrow, and I'm going to kick his butt twice to make up for lost time." Jenny said fiercely. She got to her feet, peeling off her superhero mask, and tossed it defiantly on the couch. "I'm going to drag him out of there by those stupid Air Jordans, and I'm going to send him sky high! Yeah! I'm going to go talk to Dexter in the lab, I need some more gadgets!"

Jenny scampered off, pressing buttons as she hurried towards her secret lab. Before the secret panels were even fully opened, she was calling out for her head scientist. "Dexter? Dexter! I need an electro-catapult! And a sonic battering ram! And some time bombs!"

Richie sat on the couch, his heart sinking heavily, and got slowly to his feet. His laptop was sitting innocently on the counter, glowing sweetly at him as though it were mocking him. As though pulled by some unseen hook, Richie went over to his laptop and keyed in his password. His email inbox was empty, which in itself was a surprise – usually he was flooded with emails upon emails of stock exchange reports from his associates. The market never slept, which meant neither did his associates. But as of late, he hadn't been receiving a fraction of the usual amount of emails. Still, his lack of business messaging wasn't what was worrying him.

With a few expert keystrokes, he opened his secure online email account, and tapped in his private password. A single email lay there, pulsing gently, and he tapped it open with a heavy heart. It was from Undisclosed Recipient, and it was not the first time – nor the last – that he had received such messages. And he had a fairly good idea what this one was going to be about.

**There's a Superhero in town. She's bothering me. Deal with her as you see fit.**

Richie slumped against the counter and put his face in his shaking hands. What was he going to do about his rambunctious, easily-amused wife? There was nothing he could do. She was too enamored with the idea of being a superhero. There was nothing he could do to stop her.

Unless...

* * *

Margo brushed those two annoying strands of hair which always fell by her temples out of her eyes, and tucked them behind her ears. She tapped her clipboard with a pencil, and looked authoritatively up at Edith and Agnes. The three girls were sitting cross-legged in their specially-created bomb beds which Gru had made for them. Long ago, when Gru had first adopted the two girls, their room had looked like an old storage closet and the beds had been hooked up on the walls with a pulley system. Now the room was painted a light purple, and the three beds were planted on the ground with dust ruffles and a canopy over Agnes's bed. The room itself was high-ceilinged by narrow, and it always made Margo feel cozy. Her lips tightened as she looked at her two sisters, who were staring at her. Margo had ordered the two of the to stay up later after Gru had read their bedtime story, and this had caught Edith and Agnes's attention completely. Margo advising to break rules? It had to be something important.

"Look, guys, I've been thinking," Margo whispered, so as not to alert Gru in the next room. "We're all happy here with Gru, right?"

"Really happy!" Edith enthused, and was shushed by Margo.

"He's th' best!" Agnes chimed in.

"Right," Margo said, feeling hot and uncomfortable. With a good deal of effort, she tried to keep her face straight. "But wouldn't it be cool if we had a mom, too?"

Warily, the oldest sister regarded her siblings. She had been thinking about this for quite a while, and it had hit her suddenly when she was in school. A mom. They were missing a mom. Gru was the best dad in the world, but every family needed a mom, right? Someone to pick out dresses with them, or giggle about boys, or stuff like that. Gru was great now, but in five years? Margo would be sixteen then, and she was planning the future. And a future without a mother didn't look very good. Margo loved Gru, but she couldn't talk to him about everything. That was what she really wanted, someone to talk to about things. Everything and anything. She wanted someone to color with, and make cookies with, and someone to brush her hair and tell her how to put on makeup. She could ask Gru, but it wouldn't be the same. Both of them would be painfully aware that they were pretending.

"No!" Edith burst out, almost loud enough to wake up Gru. The spiky-haired blonde glowered resentfully at Margo from beneath her pink hat. "We don't need a mom! Our last mom wasn't so great, and why do we need one now? We have Gru! He's our dad!"

"I know he's our dad," Margo explained patiently, hoping Edith couldn't see the disappointment in her eyes, "But I was just thinking that Gru could use a friend, too. He doesn't have any friends."

"He's got Uncle Nefario," Agnes piped up.

"And the minions," Edith pointed out.

Margo rolled her eyes. "Neither of them count. The minions work for Dad, and so does Dr. Nefario. I mean like a friend he can talk to, and go shopping with and stuff." She said, hoping to make more of a case from this angle.

"That's a dumb idea," Edith said sourly. "He doesn't need a friend! He's got us!"

"Edith, one day all of us are going to need more than each other," Margo said, finally saying what she had been wanting to say all along. "We're going to eventually need someone to tell us how to be girls, and someone to tell us things that only girls know how to do. Gru is going to be lonely when we get older. I don't want to leave him alone any more than you guys do, and I want ..." She choked up, and had to push her glasses up in order to rub at her eyes. "... I want a mom."

Agnes looked at her older sister, her huge brown eyes worried. She crawled out of bed and hopped into her older sister's bomb-bed, and snuggled up next to Margo. "What're we gonna do?"

Margo sniffed quietly and wiped her eyes. "I was thinking we could use the computer," Margo said softly. "There's a girl in my class who said her parents met on the internet. I did a little bit of research –" – At this Edith snorted, because Margo always did research – "-and I think it's a pretty good idea. We could sign him up, and maybe try to convince him to go out and meet people.

"He's a supervillain," Edith said bluntly. "You think he's gonna actually like going out and meeting people? And anyway, what are we gonna tell Dad?"

Margo's chocolate brown eyes looked away. "What Gru doesn't know won't hurt him," She said firmly.

This, more than anything, convinced Edith that Margo was serious about this. Margo in a rule-breaking mode was a rare sight to be seen.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry about the sort of sub-par chapter, everyone~! I've been crazy busy these past few days, but that's no excuse. I do hope to update __every Saturday_! I'm hoping deadlines will help my chronic procrastination. :P

Anyway, I didn't really get any feedback on my last chapted, but I know there's readers out there! Just drop me a comment, tell me what you think, and we'll roll from there! I do love hearing from my readers, I'm such a sucker for reviews. :)

_Thanks for the two 'guest' reviews, (one of them by my RP buddy, Ephie, THANKS MOMMA!) Keep 'em comin'!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: Mistakes**

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Do not fear mistakes. You will know failure. Instead, reach out. – _Benjamin Franklin_

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Click. Click. Click-click.

"Are you doing it right?"

Their voices were hushed in the crypt-like silence of the lab, their anxious movements muffled by the gentle, steady thrum of machinery around them. It had taken the three girls several attempts to get into their father's lab, all of them doing their part to make sure Margo's operation would go smoothly. Margo had done extensive research and quizzed several classmates thoroughly, and now knew exactly how she wanted to format her father's profile. Agnes had distracted Gru earlier with paper dollies, so thoroughly that he was headed to the craft store to purchase more construction paper. Edith had found a can of spray paint and given it to the minions, knowing they would putter about with the canister for hours. All three girls were in the clear, and they were huddled nervously around the brilliant blue computer screen which was the only illumination in the dim lab. Dr. Nefario was swearing noisily in the next room, attempting to finish the Glue Gun which Gru had ordered. At every bang, the girls jumped.

Margo squinted at the screen through her rectangular glasses and laboriously pecked out the necessary profile requirements for . "Name, Felonious Gru. Occupation, Supervillain. Hobbies …?" She trailed off, looking questioningly at her sisters. "What does he like to do?"

"Build forts out of orange juice boxes," Edith supplied.

"Hunt unicorns!" Agnes piped up, taking her thumb out of her mouth long enough to answer.

"Hobbies, taking care of my three daughters and enjoying culinary arts," Margo typed busily, muttering to herself. "Profile picture …?" She paused and minimized the website, squinting harder as she looked through Gru's personal folders to find a picture of him. There were precious little – actually, there were more photos of weapons he and Nefario had designed. But there was one he had saved, and it made Margo stop for a moment, something stuck in her throat. It was their first Christmas photo together; the one Nona (Gru's black belt mother) had taken of them. Agnes was hanging on Gru's black and silver scarf, mouth open in a laugh. Edith was sucking on a candy cane and seemed to be more focused on the presents beneath the spangled Christmas tree than the camera. Their father was either holding onto Agnes or trying to dislodge her – or a strange mixture of both. Margo was the only one smiling at the camera, and she felt a little chill of lonesomeness. Margo, the one who was always trying to do the right thing. Good little Margo, always being the responsible one, the one looking out for everybody.

"What about that one?" Edith pointed out the picture her older sister was hovering over, and Margo was jerked roughly out of her reverie.

"Right, that one looks good," She said, hoping the catch in her voice wasn't readily apparent. The brunette double-clicked the picture and waited impatiently for the screen to load, and then continued on with the profile. The next question, however, stumped her. "What are you looking for in a spouse?"

"What's a spouse?" Agnes yawned, crawling up the swivel chair and sitting in her big sister's lap. Her huge brown eyes were sleepy and unfocused. Margo stroked Agnes's black hair absently.

"Partner," Margo answered automatically, and then bit her lip. "What are we looking for in a mom?"

"Someone pretty!" Edith said excitedly.

"Someone who sings," Agnes mumbled tiredly, resting her head on the desk in front of her. "An' knows how to find unicorns. An' bake cookies."

Margo pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and started typing.

_Someone pretty, who can bake cookies and find unicorns and give good advice. Someone who can handle being around lots of noise, because the minions can get loud. Someone who doesn't mind cotton candy in their hair and isn't afraid of thunderstorms or dogs. Somebody who can draw a house and build stuff like rocket launchers._

She clicked 'publish'.

The pristine white lab was totally still. An expanse of snowy countertops stretched on for hundreds of feet, and assorted hardware was everywhere. Several bizarre looking weapons were disassembled, their metal innards spread neatly over strips of cloth to keep the counters clean. An entire row of fragile glass containers were full of oddly colored liquid which wafted strangely scented fumes into the air. From the back, the faint thump of rock music crackled in spurts, tuning in and out due to a shaky radio feed. At the rear of the lab, there was a small wing which opened into a smaller, dirtier room where the music was loudest. This was where all the repairs happened, and at the moment, Dexter McGinnis was working on a particularly difficult update on the sonic battering ram her boss ordered. Several wires crackled around her, sparking and singeing her arms every now and then, and the continuous mechanical _vvvvt!_ noise of her drill nearly drowned out the radio. Half-in, half-out of the sleek black ram, Dexter muttered quietly to herself as she tinkered with the big piece of machinery.

"There we go, c'mon, you can do it," She murmured, setting aside her drill for a moment to check on how stripped the bolts were. Jenny had burst in yesterday – full of soot and ashes, capering about in her spandex and jubilantly recounting the battle she had won against Vector. She had broken every invention Dex had sent out in the field with her, but after all, why else did she keep an inventor on site? The jaded engineer had been more concerned with Jenny's multiple cuts and bruises, but the ecstatic trophy wife had merely brushed her off and drifted upstairs to cuddle with her husband. Dexter sniffed to herself, pulling her goggles off her face and pushing them up past her bangs. A clear line of soot circled her eyes, her cheeks and face dirty and unwashed save for the patches around her eyes. She brushed a strand of frizzy brown hair out of her eyes and leaned against the sonic battering ram, expelling a breath of exhaustion.

"Dex?" A voice chirruped from the door, and the engineer looked up wearily to see her boss come in, short coiffed red hair swinging a little. "Hey, are you okay? You look sort of tired. Do you need tomorrow off? It's Saturday, after all," Jenny said, crossing the threshold and ignoring the sputtering wires around her. Dex grinned at the eccentric trophy wife – as bosses go, she was pretty good. Jenny was highly attentive to Dex's human abilities, although she always seemed to ask for the impossible. She seemed to think Dexter's capabilities as an inventor were the best in the world, and although Dexter liked to think that to cheer herself up, she knew that she didn't have a prayer of making half the things Jenny wanted.

"Nah, I'm okay, just finishing up changing the alternator on the sonic ram," Dexter said mildly. She pulled her goggles off her head and dusted her greasy fingers on her lab coat. "You really did a number on that poor thing, Miss Kickerman. I hope Vector's got the bruises to justify it."

The delighted young superhero beamed at the question. "You bet! That battering ram was _great_, his door got knocked down in five seconds _flat_. I just went in there, and _pow_, got him right there! His shark was a bit of a problem, because I didn't want to hurt the poor thing, but he _nearly_ got me, if it hadn't been for your electro net I would have been chum. Anyway, I –"

"-dueled him right in his very own living room and finally snapped the electro cuffs on him, dragging him down to the police station and firing off a few more cliches before zipping away," Dex finished with a knowing smile. "You've only repeated yourself a few dozen times."

Jenny's pert mouth twisted a little. "I haven't been boring you, have I?" She asked, a crease appearing between her brows. "I just … I'm so excited about this. His own _father_ had to come bail him out, isn't that wild?"

Dexter smiled to herself as she unbuttoned her lab coat and hung it up by the door. It was getting late, and as pleasant of a boss as Jenny was, it was still the weekend and Dexter had plans at home. "No, you're not boring me at all, Miss Kickerman. I'm just going to head off, I've got a few, um, things to get to before the week starts again." The frizzy-haired engineer plucked the pencil out from behind her ear and slid it into the pocket of her overalls, unbuckling her tool belt and hanging it over her swivel chair.

"Oh, all right then," Jenny said, and there was a note of lonesomeness in her voice. "Do you want to stay for dinner? I could whip us up something in the kitchen. Let's go! I'm pretty sure I have some Alfredo sauce left over, what do you say?"

Dexter shook her head. Jenny was a lovely girl, but there was something a little desperate in her eyes. Richie was a nice man, but gone often and left his poor young wife to her own devices. Boredom had driven her to becoming a superhero, and goodness knows what fearsome hobby the pangs of ennui would drive Jenny to next. "Thanks for the offer, Miss Kickerman, but I've really got to go," Dex said, and offered her a consoling smile. "Maybe next week."

"Call me Jen," She said, and she sighed. "All righty then, I'll just … go have some fun! I'll see you on Monday then?"

"See you then," Dex said, swiping her keycard and leaving the wannabe superhero behind.

It wasn't as though she didn't _like_ spending time with Jenny, Dex mused as she clambered into her car. The trophy wife was a sweetheart, and cheerful most of the time, but sometimes she just got a little … clingy. Of course, there wasn't much else for the poor girl to do in that great big house except lounge around and do Pilates, but Dexter preferred to do something more educational with her time than eat cheesy pasta. Something that involved lots of mechanical pencils and clay.

Two hours later, Dexter was up to her eyeteeth in clay. She had been obsessively molding and sketching for ages now, building a prototype of the collapsible tank she had thought of earlier. Something large enough to have some heavy weaponry, but light enough to be able to fold into a cube and carry around without too much difficulty. It wasn't easy, but it had been a special request from Jenny several months ago; at the time, Dexter had turned her down flat, saying it wasn't possible, but now that she had some time to herself, she rather liked the idea. So she was tearing apart large hanks of gray-white clay and following the quick sketch she had drawn of the tank, both in collapsed form and extended version. Unfortunately, she had faced a roadblock. There was no more clay to be had, and the craft stores were closed at the moment.

She rocked back on her heels and studied the invention. It would keep until morning, of course, but Dex rarely liked the idea of leaving a project alone overnight, in case the inspiration left her. But this was a Hobson's choice, seeing as she didn't have any more clay, so with a sigh the young inventor went to the sink to scrape clay off her hands. The cold water and soap took the clay off, but it was difficult to scrub the caked grease beneath her short nails. Dexter left the model where it was and went down the narrow hallway, batting at light switches as she went. The apartment she lived in was modestly small, a good studio for a young inventor, and although her lab was neat as a pin, this place was cluttered to the point of danger. Stacks of thick, dusty textbooks crowded every corner, and at least a dozen pads of paper had gone into the sketches on the walls. Devices she had created were on shelves or counters, either being put to use or given away to somebody. A TV blared in the center of her living room, the One Stop Super Shopping Network. One day, she was going to have her inventions sold on that station – sold to thousands of superheroes all over the world.

Dex unclipped her overalls and shrugged out of them, and then pulled off her loose gray tee shirt. She was a short woman, with shoulder length frizzy brown hair usually kept pinned back in a knot. A sheaf of hair usually fell into her eyes before the day was out. She was trim, but it had more to do with a high metabolism and eating little than actual physical exercise; Dex rarely had time for that. She was positive that at thirty she would be as fat as a house, but for the time being, lodged firmly in her mid-twenties, thirty seemed a long ways off. Her face was round and strongly freckled, along with her shoulders and arms, but there was something too sharp about her jaw and nose which put off the 'cute' image. Usually, however, Dexter didn't bother about her looks – she didn't feel the need to dress up only to get herself dirty again in a couple of hours. Besides, her last boyfriend was a distant memory, so there wasn't anyone to get dressed up _for_.

After a quick shower, Dex emerged scrubbed of everything but her freckles, wrapped in a flannel bathrobe which she usually pushed up to the elbow. Her frizz was lying mostly tamed on her head, and she settled into her swivel chair, powering up her sleek chrome laptop which she had built herself. True, the Wi-Fi connection was tenuous, but it was _gorgeous_ and had more memory than most government satellites. She clicked open her email inbox and discovered a few more plans from Jenny, who had sent them only minutes ago. Dex tried hard to shove away the lump of guilt in her throat, but didn't manage it quite as successfully as she'd hoped. Maybe Richie would come home early and engage his wife.

She went on the internet and logged onto her account on . It was an old, old account, used more for the online chatbox purposes than anything else. She delighted in sharing ideas with other brilliant minds, and although most of the other smart people there were rather desperate loners, there were one or two people who kept their accounts open for the same purpose she did. However, on the front page, something caught her eye.

**Newest Member: **Felonious Gru. Visit profile?

Resisting curiosity had never been a virtue of hers. And why did that name seem so familiar?

His profile was woefully thin, and while her own profile was a neglected little article, his was unusually sparse and random. His _Looking For In A Spouse_ box was particularly strange, although it was the profile picture that caught her eye. A Christmas picture – oh, he had a family. Three beautiful little girls that frankly did not look a thing like him. He wasn't … well, he wasn't the prettiest of men. An exceptionally long nose which had a hook at the end and a perfectly bald head was a strange combination, although he did have very nice eyes. And he _seemed_ to be fairly well built. Critiquing profiles was something of a mean little hobby of hers, and she had to admit, while this one was really rather weirdly written, the profile picture was compelling. The little girls were adorable, really.

[Send Friendship Request: Yes – No]

She hesitated for only a moment. Why did he seem so familiar? Well, of course, there was a Supervillain named Gru, but he didn't have daughters, and to be honest she had no idea what he looked like. And his 'Occupation' column listed Supervillain as his job, but that could be a joke.

A friendship request couldn't hurt.

[Send Friendship Request: **Yes** – No]

[Friendship Request Sent!]

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**A/N: **Yay~! More reviews! This makes me SO HAPPY! To be brutally honest, I am a sucker for reviews, they make this story SOOOOO worth it. I've had a bit of writer's block lately, (okay, more than a bit), but reviews will make it go away. :D


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